Red Sky Burning
by Donny's Boy
Summary: It’s the end of the world, and all that stands between humanity and destruction are four brothers. Unfortunately, the mean green team no longer stands united. Come find out what happens when ninjitsu goes up against science. An OT Red Sky story.
1. Fallout

"Red Sky Burning"

by Donny's Boy

--

Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor the plot relating to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and I am making no money from this story. I mean no harm.

Warnings: Donny angst? But you knew that already. Also moderate violence, no blood or gore.

Author's Notes: This story is an AU set within the universe of the original cartoon's "Red Sky" seasons.

So what makes this an AU? It's based on one very simple, very important change: What if in the "Cry H.A.V.O.C." episode, Don and Raph had _stayed_ with the pro-mutant terrorist organization H.A.V.O.C? The aftermath might look a little something like this.

--

**Chapter 1: Fallout**

"_**fallout" ( n.): **__The slow descent of minute particles of debris in the atmosphere following an explosion, especially the descent of radioactive debris after a nuclear explosion. __--The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition (Houghton Mifflin Company, 2004)_

--

The sky was red. A deep, dark red--not quite the color of blood but close.

It was beautiful, in its own way. Certainly it stood out in stark contrast against the steel and concrete of New York. Standing atop a skyscraper that towered above its neighbors, Donatello stared up at the reddened sky. It really was mesmerizing. Nodding in satisfaction, he pocketed the heavily modified Geiger counter he was holding.

"So, brainiac. What's the verdict?"

Donatello turned around to see his brother standing by the rooftop's access door, shifting nervously and looking impatient. "Things look promising. Give it another week or two, and I think we'll be ready to activate the radioactive particles."

In lieu of a reply, Raphael merely grunted.

"Oh, for goodness--what is it _now_?" Don fought back a sigh. "If you have something to say, then say it."

Wearing an uncharacteristically inscrutable expression, Raph simply shrugged. "I just ... I don't know about this, Donatello."

"Well, fortunately I do. And that, my dear Raphael, is why I'm the brains of this little operation."

Raphael muttered something under his breath and, with a small shake of his head, looked away. Meanwhile, Donatello frowned. He hated when Raph chose to be stubborn like this. Chose to fight him, chose to constantly second-guess. It was so incredibly frustrating--not to mention a waste of precious time.

"Raphael." Don consciously worked to sound calm and patient as he walked over. "Raphael, you have got to trust me on this. Okay? Trust me to know what I'm doing." He laid his hands on Raph's shoulders once he was close enough and felt encouraged when he wasn't shaken off.

They stood like that, in silence, for several long moments.

Finally, Raph whispered, "What about Master Splinter?"

"What _about_ Master Splinter?"

"He's a human."

"No, Raphael." Don scowled deeply, not bothering to hide his distaste. "He used to be a human. Very big difference."

For his part, Raph rolled his eyes. "Donatello! This ... this is serious stuff we're talking about here! Now is not the time to split hairs."

"I told you, already, that I know what I'm doing."

"Believe me, I heard you the first two hundred times you said it." Raph tilted his head. "But tell me something else, genius. How many people live in New York City? Hmm?"

Donatello felt his jaw clench, almost involuntarily.

"A million? Two million? And how many of those people did you actually _ask_ whether they wanted to be turned into mutants or not?"

"Seven point five million," snapped Don irritably, "give or take. But you have to understand, Raphael, that this is for the greater good! The humans will thank us once this is all over. You'll see." His tone softened. "We'll be treated like heroes. Like we should have been from the very beginning."

Raph's smile was devoid of all humor. "Seven and a half million. Huh. That's at least a million more than the Holocaust, isn't it? Of course, _you're_ the mathematical genius here, not little old me."

Biting back a sarcastic retort of his own, Donatello chose to ignore his provocative brother and instead returned his attention to the New York skyline. Then he frowned. Something looked wrong to him, and it wasn't just the color of the sky. It took a few second before he remembered, with a sinking feeling, just what exactly was off.

The Channel Six building. In its place stood only empty air and razed earth. Of course. How could he have forgotten?

Time ticking. Like a bomb. Too late. "I never bluff," Saki had sneered. One minute too late. The windows had exploded. Flames. Everything in flames. Too late.

And it had been the last time he'd seen either Leonardo or Michaelangelo.

"Donatello?"

Quickly Don's head whipped around, and he found himself staring into the unexpectedly gentle and concerned eyes of his last remaining brother. Blinking, he dazedly wondered just how long he hadn't been paying attention. Stupid, thoughtless Donatello. If only he'd paid attention _then_ … if only they hadn't felt so certain that Shredder wouldn't do what he'd plainly said he would. Sighing softly, Don replied, "Yes, Raphael?"

"Never mind." Raph sighed too. "I'm cold, I'm tired, and I'm in seriously desperate need of a hot shower. So, can we get the heck out of here already? Unless you feel the need to play mad scientist some more, that is."

Donatello felt his entire face harden into a frown. Would Raphael ever take _anything _seriously? "No. No, let's get back to headquarters."

In silence they climbed down the building in the same way they'd ascended earlier, via rappel. Once they reached street level, the two turtles quickly scanned the alleyway to make sure they didn't have unwelcome company before making a dash for the manhole. They paused once they reached the relative safety of the sewers. At the bottom of the manhole ladder stood the monument of chrome, steel, and cybernetics that Donatello had lovingly nicknamed the Turtle Trike. It wasn't really a tricycle--rather, it was a hulking, tricked-out motorcycle with sidecar--but Don had liked the alliteration.

Raphael just called it excessive.

Don tossed a helmet in Raph's direction before reaching for his own. After clapping it firmly on his head, he threw a leg over the bike. Raphael, meanwhile, settled into the sidecar, grumbling about the injustices of always having to ride shotgun. Donatello pretended he couldn't hear him through the helmet. Revving the bike's engine, he took off down the sewer tunnels.

The ride wasn't a long one. Neither Don nor Raph liked to venture too far from headquarters. There was, after all, safety in numbers. In less than ten minutes, the two were hanging up their helmets and walking through the pristine, stainless steel hallways of the H.A.V.O.C. main base of operations. While Raphael smiled and nodded to those he passed, Donatello marched through the corridors with a singular determination. Finally, with a loud, exasperated sigh, Raph began jogging to catch up.

Don was unconcerned. If his brother wanted to dawdle, so be it. _He _sure wasn't going to keep the big boss waiting. Entering the main chambers, Raph hot on his heels, he quickly glanced around and froze as soon as he spotted Titanus. The massive mutant was standing, his hands clasped together as he contemplatively studied the computer monitors that lined an entire wall of the room.

Respectfully, Donatello lowered his gaze and waited patiently for Titanus to speak first.

"It is done?"

Don tensed a bit as he sensed Raphael fidgeting beside him. Silently he begged his brother not to embarrass him. "Oh, yes, sir." Donatello forced a light, confident tone into his voice that belied the nervous knot in his stomach. "The radiation levels are precisely where they're supposed to be."

Titanus chuckled--a mellow sound, yet somehow deep and dark. "You have done well, Mr. Hamato. Very well, indeed."

And, for the first time that day, Donatello smiled.

--

The sky was red. A deep, dark red--not quite the color of blood but close.

It was terribly ugly.

Leonardo scowled. As if it wasn't bad enough that the sky was dark and ominous and probably a harbinger of certain doom and destruction ... as if all that wasn't enough, the sky had to go and offend his aesthetic sensibilities as well. Which was simply unforgivable.

"Kinda freaky, isn't it? The sky, I mean."

Leo turned away from the edge of the roof and back towards his brother. "Yes, Michaelangelo," he replied, "and I believe things might get even 'freakier' before they go back to normal."

Mike nodded glumly. "I was afraid you were gonna say something like that."

"C'mon." He pointed to a rooftop a few blocks away. "We're going to find out just what, exactly, is going on here."

Cracking a grin, Michaelangelo reached for the grappling hook on his belt and gave it a few experimental twirls. Leonardo, meanwhile, positioned himself behind his brother and wrapped his arms tightly around the other turtle's torso. Mike glanced at him over his shoulder.

"Ready, dude?"

Leo gave him an affectionate smile. "Do your thing, Michaelangelo."

"Hold on tight …" With a whoop, Mike flung the both of them from the rooftop while simultaneously throwing the grappling hook. "Cowabunga!"

Leonardo grunted involuntarily as their downward descent abruptly halted and they began swinging parallel to the ground. He really didn't know how Mike handled doing this all the time. First the nunchaku, then the grappling hook … Leo much preferred his simple, straight, non-circumvolving weapons.

Though, he had to admit that Mike really knew his way around a grappling hook.

In the space of two long swings, they had reached their destination: a tall building made of smooth glass and shining steel. Leonardo quickly glanced around, an abbreviated surveillance, while Mike gathered up his weapon and returned it to its rightful place. Then, across the roof Leo spotted it--Channel Two's very own, top-notch, state-of-the-art weather satellite dish. He reached down and nervously ran his fingers over the small metallic device clipped to his belt.

He hoped it still functioned properly. Actually … had it ever functioned properly? Leo couldn't remember. What's worse, he had no idea if he could even figure out how to make it work. If it did work.

Swallowing his anxiety, he headed over to the satellite dish with a purposeful stride. He could sense Mike fall in behind him. Leonardo knelt next to the satellite dish and, after giving in a good long look, he gulped. Wow, there were a lot of buttons on this thing. A _lot_ of buttons.

He sighed then grabbed for the contraption on his belt. Carefully, hesitantly, he plugged it into an input on the satellite dish. "All right. Now, time to see if Donatello's old invention still works …"

"Uh, Leonardo? Did it _ever_ work?"

"Sure! Sure, it used to … well. We'll find out." He shrugged amiably as he began pressing the brightly-colored buttons on Don's device. "All I know is that this little guy is supposed to sense … " He paused, frowning, as his memory groped for the correct phrase. "Is supposed to sense 'localized and aberrant meteorological phenomena.'"

There was a beat of silence before Mike ventured, "Translation, dude?"

"Not a clue. Sorry, Michaelangelo." Leo squinted at the machine's display screen. He wasn't Don, it was true, but it seemed to him that the little gizmo was taking an awfully long time to scan. "It has something to do with the weather. At least, that's what Donatello said. And April told us that this satellite dish should extend its scanning range."

"Y'know, I wonder why he never came back for all his inventions when he … I mean, when him and Raphael … when they …"

Michaelangelo trailed off. Several long, uncomfortable seconds passed in which the only thing to be heard was the quiet _whirr_ of Don's scanner.

"We'll get them back." Leonardo's voice was deathly quiet, deadly serious. "I promise you. We'll bring them home."

He glanced up in time to catch Mike's fleeting smile, there and gone in the space of a nanosecond. Leo smiled back, warmly if a bit wanly, and felt a sudden wave of gratitude rush through him at not having lost _all_ of his brothers. The smile quickly turned into a frown, however, when he heard the machine begin loudly beeping.

The scan was complete.

Still frowning, Leonardo carefully studied the displayed results. He scratched his head. Then he tilted the scanner in his hands and gave it a little shake. He could feel Michaelangelo leaning in close, trying to sneak a peek.

Leo's frown deepened. The readings had to be wrong. That was all. The device was too old, or Leo simply didn't know how to properly operate it, or _something_. And yet …

"Well, dude? What's the doohickey tellin' you?"

"It says … " Leonardo swallowed. Then he cut his eyes towards Mike. "It says that the entire atmosphere is loaded with Zetatron radiation."

Mike's frown matched Leo's own. "Zeta-whosit?"

"Zetatron radiation. It's a specially-developed and experimental form of radiation that … that … " That had been invented by a world-class, unparalleled genius. A world-class genius who had very earnestly promised his family that he'd never let his radiation formula fall into the wrong hands because, if it did, it could be used to accomplish great evil.

A genius who had sworn--with a jaunty, careless grin--that he himself would, of course, never use it inappropriately.

While Michaelangelo waited for the rest of his answer, Leonardo turned away and let his gaze wander along the stark, brutal, crimson-bathed skyline of New York City. Although his body remained relaxed and at ease, ever ninja-ready, his mind whirled madly. He gently placed the scanner back on his belt. The machine laid heavily against his leg, like an anchor, dragging him down.

His brothers' jokes aside, he had always been very well aware that there were a lot of things he didn't know in life. He didn't know how to correctly time a joke, like Raph could. He didn't know how to surf, like Mikey did. He didn't know how to build crazy inventions from junkyard treasures, like Donatello was able to. But Leonardo had always prided himself on his knowledge of his brothers, of his clan. He loved his family, and he _knew_ his family. So, the thought that Don could be responsible for … for all of this …

No. No, Don couldn't. Don wouldn't.

Would he?

Leonardo honestly didn't know, and that simple fact terrified him much more than an unnaturally reddened sky ever could.


	2. Strange Attractors

**Chapter 2: Strange Attractors  
**

"_**strange attractor" (n.):**__ an attractor for which the approach to the final set of physical properties is chaotic.  
--The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition (Houghton Mifflin Company, 2004)_

--

Impervious to the bohemian charm of her Manhattan loft apartment--usually a great source of joy and pride--April O'Neil sat glumly at the computer desk. Though she knew she should be researching a story online, instead she stared at the brick wall that stood in front of her. She was having a bad day, and the last thing she felt like doing was research. There were just so many ways that today was shaping up poorly.

First, outside the window of her apartment building, the sky was overcast and still streaked with unsettling red. She'd called up some of her old industry and government contacts to ask about the sky and, while they said it was nothing to worry about, she hadn't believed them for one moment. Second, she had noticed that her bank funds were dwindling down, and she hadn't had a hot lead on a new story in at least two weeks. And, last but most certainly not least, there were the turtles.

April sighed. There were _always_ the turtles.

She was fond of the crime-fighting quartet, she had to admit. The affection she felt for them was genuine, and it was small wonder why. They were fun and spirited. They were surprisingly loyal. They had, on more than one occasion, saved her from the clutches of various villains and madmen. Not to mention all the scoops they'd gotten for her, back in the good old days before she'd turned freelance journalist.

And yet … all too often the boys proved to be a hindrance, as well. She couldn't even count the times that she'd missed out on a story because during a fight _someone's_ katana or _someone's_ nunchunk had accidentally taken out a video camera. Her longstanding acquaintance with the teens also hadn't won her any friends at Channel Six. Quite the contrary, good old Burne Thompson had almost axed her on more than one occasion--all because she knew "those green menaces," as he enjoyed calling them. And, of course, there was the small matter of Channel Six itself.

Blown up, because it made a good target since April worked there and the turtles cared about her. Blown up, because Raphael just had to shoot off his big mouth and accuse Shredder of bluffing.

Blown up. Her livelihood, her friends' livelihoods, everything—blown sky-high because of a stupid ninja blood-feud.

A bit ruefully April reflected that, once upon a time, she never would have imagined missing Channel Six. But she did. Even Vernon. Well, she amended silently, maybe not Vernon. Certainly her old boss, though, and certainly Irma.

She glanced over at the cordless phone that sat on the desk. Maybe she should call up Irma, see how her old friend was settling into her new job. After all, April couldn't even remember the last time they'd spoken. She missed hearing about Irma's crazy dating stories, missed her boundless optimism, missed her all-out enthusiasm for life. April's hand reached for the phone and then, just as her fingertips grazed the receiver, quickly pulled back again, as though she'd been burned.

_No,_ thought April. Too much time had passed. Clearly Irma had moved on with her life, and April really couldn't blame the other woman for that. The Channel Six explosion had, after all, been more than a little her fault.

Still not as much as it had been the turtles' fault, of course. April shook her head and swallowed her bitterness.

Before she could sink any further into her depression, however, the phone rang. She snatched it up eagerly, hoping against all rational thought that it just might be Irma, and barked out "Hello?" in a mildly frazzled voice.

"Hello, April. It's Leonardo." Then, sounding gallantly concerned, he added, "Are you okay? You sound a bit out of breath."

Her heart sank. Perfect. Just _perfect_. "Oh, I'm fine. How're you and the guys--uh, I mean, how are you and Michaelangelo?"

"We're doing well, thank you." He paused uncomfortably, and all of April's reporter instincts began to sing. "Actually, we were wondering if you had time to, uh, do a bit of research for us. We just might have a lead on a very weird situation."

April grinned. Well, well, well. Maybe today wouldn't end up an entire loss, after all. "Sure thing, Leonardo," she chirped into the phone. "What--or who--am I digging up dirt on?"

"It's an underground group. Mutants. They call themselves … H.A.V.O.C."

--

It had taken nearly a week of sneakiness and surveillance, but Leonardo's nearly endless wells of patience finally saw him through. Here, finally, just as April had said they would be, were two of H.A.V.O.C.'s top operatives. Slowly Leo lowered his night-vision goggles and spared a moment to bask in quiet triumph.

Michaelangelo, meanwhile, was barely hanging on by a thread. He sat with his legs hanging over the building's ledge, his heels kicking against the bricks in steady rhythm. Every so often, he'd whistle a bit of tune, off-key. Leo glanced over and smiled sympathetically.

"All right, Michaelangelo. I think you've suffered through enough boredom for one night." He pointed down to the building across the street, several stories shorter than the one where they'd set up their stake-out. "You cover Bogey Red, and I'll take care of Bogey Purple."

For a moment Mike frowned in confusion at the code names. Then, brightening suddenly, he replied, "Oh! You mean you want me to go talk to Raphael?"

"Yes." Leo couldn't decide whether he wanted to sigh or laugh. He settled on merely shaking his head. "Yes, I would like you to go talk to Raphael."

"No problemo, dude. Can do!"

"Good." Finding his smile again, Leo instructed, "Raphael is heading down the fire escape. If you hurry, you should be able to catch him before he reaches the manhole."

With a nod, Mike took off running along the roof's ledge and then flung his grappling hook with all his might. Leonardo watched his brother until he disappeared into the blackness of the night, and then he raised the goggles back up to his eyes. He frowned. "What have you _done_, Donatello?" Leo murmured to himself, as he watched the hazy green outline of his erstwhile brother putter around on the rooftop opposite.

He wasn't sure whether he was asking about the radiation or about the way, just seconds earlier, Raphael had gone storming off towards the fire escape.

Hooking the goggles--yet another of Don's inventions--onto the clasp on his belt, Leonardo reached up and withdrew one of his katanas. Quickly he tied a length of rope to its hilt and, after taking a moment to aim, threw it like a javelin towards the building directly next to the one Don stood upon. The sword hissed softly as it flew through the air, and it hit its mark dead-on with barely a sound.

Gracefully Leonardo leapt from the roof and, as he swung forward and downward, began clambering up the rope. In less than a minute, he stood atop the building, his katana once again laying safe against his shell, the rope coiled up and tied to his belt. From his vantage point next to the other building, he stared down at Donatello's silhouette, dark against the moon behind him. The brainy turtle didn't even seem to realize there was someone else present.

Well. Time to let Don know what was up. Silently Leo knelt down, picked up a small piece of gravel, and stood back up. Almost casually he tossed the tiny piece of rock down onto the rooftop next to him. The gravel skipped along several feet before coming to a stop, just a few inches from Donatello's left foot. With a surprised shout Don whirled around.

Leo smiled despite himself. It was indescribably reassuring to see that Don was still sharp, still ninja. Still _Don_.

"Who's there?" Donatello barked out while reaching for something on his belt. Then, spotting Leonardo, he pointed the device in his direction. "Who are you?"

A gun? Was that … a gun? Leo swallowed thickly before carefully lifting his hands in the universal "don't shoot" gesture. "It's all right," he called down quickly. "It's just me. It's Leonardo."

Even through the dark and distance, Leo could see his brother's shoulders relax. But the weapon never lowered. "Leonardo?" Don's voice was soft, incredulous, almost awed. "You … you really shouldn't be here."

Apprehension began creeping its way up Leonardo's spine, but he resolutely ignored the feeling. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I have something important to discuss with you."

Shrugging, Donatello turned around and resumed working on … whatever he was working on. Leo resisted the urge to fidget and, after a few moments of silence, decided to just plow on ahead.

"I believe your Zetratron radiation formula may have been misplaced. Or, uh, possibly stolen." When Leo was met with yet more silence, he offered a gentle nudge: "Donatello?"

"Go home, Leonardo. Just for once, stay out of this."

Leo frowned. The uncomfortable feeling from before seemed to concentrate in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, he felt slightly dizzy. "I don't understand … "

At last, Don turned back around to face him, and through the dark Leonardo could just barely see the whites of his eyes. "The radiation formula wasn't stolen." Donatello's voice sounded oddly flat. "I'm using it. Personally. Let's just … leave it at that."

It was as though he'd been punched right in the gut. Kneeling swiftly, Leonardo placed one hand down to brace himself. It helped, a little. The nice, solid feeling of the roof beneath him. The fresh breeze cooling the sweat that prickled all along his skin. The soft hum of whatever doomsday machine Don was building less than twenty feet away.

"Leonardo? Leonardo, are you all right?"

_No,_ thought Leo, _I most certainly am not._ But, in lieu of a verbal reply, he instead reached for a sword.

--

April drummed her fingers on the top of her kitchen table and sneaked another glance towards the clock. They were late. Of course they were. They were _always_ late, weren't they? Almost always. Nervously she turned her eyes towards the door. She had to admit that, this time, it wasn't just the boys' tardiness that had her on edge.

She'd kept on digging after finding out what Leo had wanted to know. It had been a challenge, true--but if there was anything April liked, it was a challenge. So after a week of trying to hack into the local Army base's computer systems, she'd finally succeeded. And what she'd found out … Well. Suffice it to say, she really needed the Turtles to hurry back. As soon as possible.

She didn't allow herself to think any further than that.

Instead, she occupied herself with wondering just how much Don and Raph might know and, even more importantly, just how deeply they might be involved. While Leonardo and Michaelangelo had insisted that the two other turtles couldn't have anything to do with the sky or the radiation, April didn't feel nearly so certain.

With a bittersweet pang in her chest, she remembered the last time she'd seen Donatello and Raphael. It had been about a month after the Channel Six incident, and the boys had dropped by her apartment to check in on her. Which was sweet. Very sweet. But she'd still been angry, then, and the pair had instantly picked up on that. Most of their visit was spent awkwardly not talking about Channel Six.

Even beyond that, they had just simply _changed_. Raph's smiles had seemed sadder. Don's demeanor had grown pricklier.

Finally, after about a half-hour of uncomfortable conversation, Donatello had announced, a bit stiffly, that they should go. April had nodded sadly and told them to be careful.

And that had been that. She'd heard nothing from either one for the next six months, not even a Christmas card. Had heard nothing, in fact, until last week, when Leo had mentioned that pro-mutant organization and two of its more recent recruits.

Frowning, she wondered why neither Leo nor Mike had mentioned it before. Odd …

Gah! This whole "waiting patiently" thing just wasn't meant for an action news reporter! Abruptly April pushed away from the table and jumped to her feet, with every intention to pace the kitchen like a caged lion. But a loud, brisk knock on the front door interrupted her plans. Whirling around, she stared hard at the door. Only one person she knew knocked like that--three short knocks, firm, rapid, in perfectly-spaced succession. She smiled. It was about darn time.

"It's not locked, Leonardo!" she called out. "You guys can just come in."

After a beat of silence, the door slowly swung open. Still smiling, April opened her mouth, to launch into an explanation of all she'd learned from her diligent cyber snooping, but she shut it again the moment she saw four turtles tumble through the doorway instead of the expected two. Then, when she noticed that only three of them were conscious, she gasped.

Gesturing to Donatello's limp body, slung over one of Leonardo's broad shoulders, April blurted out, "What on earth happened to him?"

"Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix," Leo replied with stony face. Brushing past her, he continued on to the living room. He carefully lowered Don to the couch and stared down at his brother with a thoughtful frown for several moments. Taking one of the couch's pillows, he tucked it under Don's head and gave a tiny, approving nod.

Then he turned to his other two brothers. Raph, still standing in April's doorway, gulped audibly.

"Raphael, I want you to tell me everything you know about H.A.V.O.C." Leo crossed his arms over his chest. "And I do mean _everything_."


End file.
